


No Rest for Fallen Angels

by Flywolf33



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angels, Aziraphale is a wreck, Demons, Fighting, Forced to Watch, Gabriel is mean, Holy Water, Hurt/Comfort, I don't actually know how to do tags here, M/M, Other, PTSD, Poor Crowley, Recovery, Rogue Angels, This got away from me, Torture, confessions under duress, friends - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-06-29 04:29:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19822555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flywolf33/pseuds/Flywolf33
Summary: Writing Prompt from https://good-omens-kink.livejournal.com/1206.html?page=5#t145590Crowley is tortured by rogue angels in front of a tied up Aziraphale as punishment for Aziraphale’s role in foiling the apocalypse.  Somehow, their captors find out about their relationship, and from there, the torture turns sexual. Crowley tries to keep his cool for Aziraphale but he slowly breaks down.Not knowing what to do, Aziraphale takes Crowley, on the brink of discorporation, to Anathema Device, the only person he thinks can help them.This was supposed to be a short little fill for this prompt but... it kind of took off.For people who know me irl... This is not a nice story. You've been warned.





	1. Everything Falls Apart

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work on here, so I'm still figuring out the formatting and everything. Not sure how to do italics yet, but I'll figure it out. I'll try to update as often as I can. Please leave feedback, but please be constructive! I love the opportunity to learn and become a better writer!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> For people who know me in real life: you have been warned.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heaven finally finds them and Crowley finds himself drawing the short straw.

They were expecting some sort of retribution, even after the body-switching incident. They didn’t think it would last forever; clearly Heaven and Hell were working together in at least some capacity, if only to get them. That being said, they didn’t expect them to come together. One moment they were strolling through the park and the next Crowley found himself restrained in a rather vulnerable and uncomfortable position by blessed chains. Aziraphale was opposite him, encircled by hellfire and bound with what he could only assume was the demonic version of what held him.

His heart hammered, but he tried not to show just how worried he was. They hadn’t had time to switch bodies this time. If death what their former bosses wanted, it was what they would get. Crowley and Aziraphale’s gazes locked. His blue eyes were wide with fear; he’d never been good at concealing his emotion. Crowley tried to convey some sort of calm to him with his eyes, but with his mouth tight with a gag he couldn’t do much to comfort him.

“I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised we found you two together,” Gabriel’s voice came from Crowley’s left, and the demon finally broke eye contact with his friend to look at the archangel. “I am glad though. It makes our jobs much easier.”

Crowley scowled at the celestial being in his stupid grey suit and his stupid lilac eyes and his stupid smug smirk. He tried to snap back with his usual snark, but all that came through the gag was a muffled murmur. Gabriel’s smile grew, but for some reason he still miracled it away and allowed the demon to speak. “Congratulations, you got us. Where’s Beelzebub? I expect she’d like to gloat too,” he tried again.

Gabriel laughed – actually laughed! – before settling his face into a rather disconcerting grin. If he thought angels were capable of it, Crowley would even call it malicious. “She couldn’t make it, but fortunately we’ve discussed this at length and she is fully endorsing our new form of punishment.”

There was the sound of ground crumbling and though he found himself unable to turn his head more than a few degrees Crowley knew several angels had appeared around him. He saw Aziraphale stiffen and knew things were going to be bad. He expected a burning shower of holy water any moment, but it never came.

“If you’re going to kill me, get on with it!” he snapped. He didn’t want to die – far from it – but they didn’t have to torture him with waiting.

“Oh, we’re not going to kill you,” Gabriel said. “Well, in a way we are, but I’m here for my man. Your people have merely agreed to help.”

“What are you going to do to him?” This was where Crowley felt true anxiety. He wasn’t about to let him hurt his angel. He’d walked on consecrated ground – he’d walked into Heaven and that had been much worse than any church – to protect Aziraphale.

The archangel lifted his hands in an ‘isn’t it obvious?’ gesture with a short chuckle. “We’re not doing anything to him!”

And then Crowley understood.

Aziraphale must have reached his realization at the same time, because he made a strangled noise into his gag. Gabriel swung around to face him with a sickening smile but said nothing.

“I’ll be fine, angel,” Crowley said to Aziraphale.

He’d been to hell; he knew what torture was like. He’d never been tortured by angels though, and they had a whole different arsenal of anti-demon toys to play with. He kept eye contact with Aziraphale as he was hoisted roughly to his feet and his bound arms separated. They attached each wrist to a stake at either side of him. If he were to stand his elbows would be bent at ninety degrees, but he was just high enough that his knees wouldn’t touch the ground should he try to kneel. It was overall a very uncomfortable situation.

White hot pain sliced down the center of his back, tearing his clothes and leaving a line of what felt like fire along his spine. He focused on keeping his face neutral despite it. Holy weapons it was, then. “Aww, this is my favorite suit,” he complained. One of the angels kicked him in the stomach, causing Crowley to wheeze. 

It turned out to be a good thing because the angels moved on, cutting into him with their holy swords in careful, neat lines. Having the wind knocked out of him meant he had no air to scream at first and gave him time to get control of himself. Crowley was proud to say he was able to keep how much it hurt hidden for the most part, sniping back with a good quip when they did something particularly hurtful. Aziraphale was straining in his bonds, blue eyes wide and filled with tears that were streaking his face. Despite maintaining his composure for the most part, Crowley was breathing heavier and gritting his teeth. It hurt… it hurt so bad. But he had to keep up a brave face for Aziraphale. He could do this.

The cutting stopped and Crowley was left quivering, dangling by his wrists. He wasn’t sure he could support his own weight even if he wanted to. He forced himself to take deep, calm breaths. “Is that it?” he taunted, unable to help himself. Why would they have stopped? Maybe this was too far even for angels. Maybe word had come from higher up the chain to order their release. Maybe it was over.

Oh, how wrong he was.

Gabriel, who had been observing all of this, smiled sharply and waved his hand vaguely at his other prisoner, who suddenly found himself without a gag.

“Crowley!” He gasped. How creative.

“I’m okay. I told you, I’ll be okay,” the demon assured his friend.

“Gabriel, stop! This is not necessary!”

“But it is,” the archangel said. “You defied the Great Plan. You defied us. You have to be punished.”

Aziraphale choked down a sob. “Then punish me. Leave Crowley out of this. Take me.”

Gabriel laughed again, inclining his head slightly at the angels surrounding Crowley, who was starting to get his wind back, and didn’t reply.

The captive angel’s gaze flicked to just behind Crowley and he suddenly started thrashing in his bonds, throwing himself dangerously close to the hellfire around him. “No! You can’t! You’ll destroy him!” he screamed.

His horrified expression caused Crowley to tense again. What were they doing? What was going on? He tried to turn and look behind him but his head was still immobilized – by what, he didn’t know, but that wasn’t his concern right now. He was more interested in what the angels were preparing.

The demon found out soon enough as he felt a small prick in the crook of his elbow. The tiny pang was quickly drowned out by one of the worst sensations he’d ever felt. It took all his self-control to clamp his teeth over the scream that built in his throat. A deep hiss came out instead. The fire in his veins radiated outwards, spreading into his shoulder and hand. He could hear sizzling.

“Like it?” Gabriel asked, clearly pleased with himself. “Diluted holy water. Don’t worry,” he held up a hand, “it’s not strong enough to kill you. Just enough to make it burn.”  
Crowley’s heart felt like it was going to burst. “Ooooh, how terrifying,” he managed to spit. Any further shot at Gabriel’s pride was cut off by another stab of a syringe, this time in the side of his neck. His muscles turned to rubber and his head dropped forward as a low groan snuck its way from his mouth. His fists clenched painfully against his will. He could hear Aziraphale begging for them to stop, that they would kill him.

The agony from the last shot hadn’t even faded before the hit him on the other side of his neck. Crowley clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut, hating the sound rumbling in his throat. This had to be the worst of it. If he could survive the holy water (how does one dilute holy water anyway?) then everything would be okay. They could find a way out of this and run to where they’d never be found.

They let it work its way out of the demon’s system, though Crowley had no idea how long it actually took. He trembled from the effort of not screaming, but he succeeded.  
There was a sudden pressure on his back, just to either side of his spine, and his eyes shot open in horror. “No,” his whispered, tensing and trying to rock his body forward away from the hands. “No.”

They pressed harder, slowly working towards his shoulder blades with probing fingers.

“Don’t,” he snarled, finally struggling and twisting in his bonds. He heard two distinct pops and hissed in pain as his shoulders dislocated, but he kept trying to escape. His wings were straining to manifest now. “No no no,” he whimpered, abandoning his brave face. “Please don’t, please!”

There was another kick to his abdomen, swiftly followed by a second. His focus slipped and there was a burst of feathers as two large black wings sprang from his back. Crowley was immediately trying to fold them back into his being and keep them out of harm’s way, but the angels were faster.

__________________

Aziraphale watched in horror as six angels forced Crowley’s wings to manifest. The demon had been doing so well in keeping his composure until that moment, but he’d been cracking.

“Stop it!” Aziraphale wailed while the angels wrestled with the beautiful black wings until there was a loud snap and Crowley finally screamed. One of his wings buckled under the weight of its assailants, bones near the base broken. The second didn’t hold more than a few seconds longer, tearing a second shriek from the demon.

“Please don’t, please, leave them be, please, please, don’t-” another cry accompanied more snapping. Crowley’s body jerked when two angels jabbed more needle into the flesh right where the wings met skin. They fluttered faintly, as though trying to take flight even though they slumped shattered on the ground. The sound coming from the demon’s mouth should not be possible to make with a human body.

The trapped angel screamed back at him, begging the angels to let them go, to stop hurting his friend, for Crowley to hold on and everything was going to be okay. Time seemed to blur as he watched them rip handfuls of feathers from those poor wings, hands grabbing in a blind fury to cause pain. Crowley was sobbing, all his weight sagging from his wrists. He could see pockets in the flesh where his shoulders had slipped from their sockets.

Gabriel suddenly held up a hand and the frenzy ended, leaving the demon shaking with agony. Quiet shaking gasps was the only sound he made. He didn’t raise his head.  
“Anything to say?” the archangel asked, though it seemed to be aimed at both prisoners.

Crowley didn’t seem to hear him, so Aziraphale answered, dragging his tear-filled eyes from his friend to meet his captor’s gaze. “Stop this, please. Take me instead. It’s enough. Take me.”

“Why so desperate to save a demon?” Gabriel asked, pacing forward to the very edge of the ring of fire. “They’re nothing. Scum. Evil incarnate. And he,” he pointed wildly at the bleeding mess of a demon, “is one of the worst! The first sin! He might as well have cast humans from the Garden himself!”

“He’s not!” Aziraphale shouted back. “He didn’t mean to Fall! He’s good, underneath! He’s saved me from discorporation countless times while the rest of you sat idly in Heaven! He’s better than you!” His voice broke.

The angels all stared. Even Crowley raised his head a little. Gabriel blinked. “You love him.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Angels are supposed to love-”

“No,” Gabriel snapped, cutting him off. “You are in love with him.”

Aziraphale met Crowley’s eyes and it felt like the world narrowed down to just the two of them. He licked his lips, bottom one trembling. “Yes,” he finally breathed.

Gabriel broke into loud guffaws while the angels exchanged scandalized glances. Crowley held his gaze a moment more before his neck gave and his head dropped again.  
“Well then,” the archangel finally said, a triumphant gleam in his eyes. “I guess we know what the finale is.”

___________________

Crowley’s breaths shuddered as he tried to take in air. Aziraphale… loved him? Was in love with him? How could that be? They’d been friends for millennia, yes. They’d gotten each other out of sticky situations across the ages, made the Arrangement, met for meals… but love? He’d never even dared to hope the principality could love someone like him.  
He was wrenched from his thoughts when he was suddenly dropped, eliciting a sharp cry. Everything hurt, and everything hurt more when he was jostled. His face hit dirt, but his arms were immediately wrenched back up behind him again, suspending his body parallel to the ground as he knelt. Greedy hands tore the rest of his clothing away from him, leaving him shivering in the cold night air. When had night fallen? He couldn’t recall how long he’d been there. It seemed like an eternity.

Aziraphale was screaming again, but Crowley couldn’t make out what he was going on about through the rushing in his ears.

Scorching hands grasped at his hips and something pressed against him. His body twitched in shock. They wouldn’t- they couldn’t- even for angels this was- They hadn’t even prepared him, how could they expect to-

Crowley choked, not even capable of making a proper sound as one of the angels thrust into him, hard and sharp and not pausing until he was fully sheathed inside him. Pain danced through the demon’s body. He got only those few moments to try to relax and adjust before the demon picked up a ruthless rhythm.

________________

How could they? How could they do this and still not Fall?

Aziraphale screamed and thrashed and fought with every fiber of his being to escape, not caring when his bindings cut into him and drew blood. He barely noticed the fire’s heat when he wriggled too close. It was no use; he was helpless. There was nothing he could do but watch as the rogue angels ravaged his demon. Crowley wasn’t even making a sound anymore. He just hung there, body occasionally twitching when one angel would pull out and another would take his place.  
One of them yanked the demon’s head back, exposing his face. It was blank. His mouth was sagging open and his amber eyes were glazed over, half rolled into the back of his head. It looked like nobody was home.

Aziraphale collapsed to his side, sobbing and wishing he could bring himself to tear his gaze away. How did this happen? These weren’t angels. They couldn’t be; not anymore. They were things, worse than demons. Yet they still didn’t Fall. Did Heaven even care what they did anymore? Or did everyone just follow Gabriel without question? What about God? Where was She in all this?

The night seemed to last forever, but finally dawn came and Gabriel dispersed the rogue angels, turning with a satisfied expression on his face to Aziraphale. “The hellfire will burn down within a few hours. I think you’ve learned your lesson; don’t you?”

The principality just glared, unable to find his voice.

“I’m honestly impressed he hasn’t discorporated yet. Stubborn old thing, isn’t he? Beelzebub is probably getting impatient waiting for him.” He turned on his heal and vanished after the rest of the rogues.

Terror filled Aziraphale as he felt the blood drain from his face. The demons. If Crowley’s body died – if he discorporated – he wouldn’t be able to escape hell. He’d be lost to him.

Aziraphale dragged himself to his knees, contemplating his options. He knew his bindings were holy rope, given that they didn’t make his blood boil when they cut into his flesh. Why the angels went to the trouble of getting hellfire but not demonic shackles was a mystery he didn’t care to puzzle out. Never look a gift horse in the face. Holy rope meant the fire could dispel it, but that also meant putting himself in the flame’s reach.

He had no choice; he would survive a little hellfire. Crowley, on the other hand, wouldn’t last long.

The angel maneuvered so his back was to the fire, its heat scorching his skin. He bit his lip, clenched his eyes shut, and thrust his hands backwards. He wailed as the hellfire flared around him, but he forced himself to hold until the rope snapped. It didn’t take long. He flung himself forward, curling around his hands and trying to block out the pain. He could smell his own cooked flesh.

He didn’t dare look at his wounds; not yet. He still had to reach Crowley.

For lack of a better option Aziraphale manifested his wings. He didn’t have a lot of space and he flung himself into the sky as quickly as he could, but he smelled his feathers burning and grimaced. He was sure he would feel that too once the adrenaline was gone.

“Crowley? Crowley, talk to me,” he pleaded, cutting the demon down and catching him before he could hit the ground. He groaned softly but didn’t stir. Blood and sweat turned the dust to mud beneath them and most of Crowley’s torso was covered in peeling, blistering skin. “I’m so sorry, my dear,” he murmured through the lump in his throat.

The angel gently scooped his demon up, cradling him against his chest as he once again took flight. He didn’t know where he could go; his shop was out of the question, and the demons would be able to take the flat too easily once they came looking. Besides that, he needed access to the kind of healing that would work on a demon of Crowley’s age.

Jasmine Cottage it was.


	2. Safe Haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale goes to the only place he thinks they can be safe.

Anathema had decided she quite liked England. She was certainly used to a far more… _lush_ life back home, but there was something to be said for the simple quiet of the tiny town of Tadfield. She hadn’t intended to stay beyond the apocalypse – she hadn’t expected to survive, so there was that – but since it turned out to be more of an abotchalypse she found herself trying to figure out what she was going to do.

True, she’d been a little disappointed when she first met Newton Pulsifer, but she quickly grew fond of him. They turned Jasmine Cottage into a home, and before long the witch found herself fully buying the place. Her family was well off, after all. Her mother had of course been disheartened to hear her daughter was staying, but she wasn’t all that surprised.

It was a brave new world full of unknowns, after all.

Which is why she found herself very surprised indeed when a distraught angel with a bloody bundle of black feathers started banging on her door shortly after dawn.

“What the bloody hell-” Newton started when he wandered downstairs to see what the commotion was about.

“Exactly,” Anathema said, ushering the pair into a spare bedroom on the ground. “Go into town and get me some herbs and first aid, quickly!”

The former witchfinder didn’t hesitate; he merely shoved his feet into his shoes and ran out the door, still in his pajamas.

“I can’t heal him,” Aziraphale sobbed, trying to arrange the demon into a comfortable position on the bed so his wings weren’t crumpled. “They used holy weapons and I can’t heal their damage!”

“There are bandages under the sink,” Anathema told him. “Go get them. And please put your wings away before you break something.”

The angel hesitated, looking down at the demon on the bed.

“Now!” the witch snapped.

Aziraphale obeyed, folding his wings into nothing and bustling from the room, wringing his hands. Anathema noticed rope abrasions on his wrists, some of which had completely torn through the skin. Even worse were the burns, as if he’d tried to roast his hands in an open flame.

What had these two gotten themselves into?

____________________

Aziraphale didn’t know what to do. He thought once they’d escaped he could help Crowley, but he was still just as helpless now as he was tied up in a ring of fire. He paced the cottage, alternating between hovering over Anathema’s shoulder as she worked to peering through the windows in search of demons.

It didn’t take long for Newt to return, Dick Turpin’s tires squealing as he pulled into the drive and flew from the vehicle. His arms were full of shopping bags. He hesitated only a moment before entering, eyes flicking above the door.

“The horseshoe is gone!” he called as he charged in, nearly tripping on the carpet.

“Ah! I’ll put that back, terribly sorry,” Aziraphale fretted, waving his hand to restore the protection to the cottage. “I couldn’t get him through without hurting him more, and any further damage could-” his throat closed.

“It’ll be alright; Ana will get him patched back up,” Newton awkwardly patted the angel’s shoulder. 

“Is anyone coming after you?” the witch in question asked, barely glancing up from grinding several herbs in a mortar.

“I don’t know. Probably. He said they were waiting for him to…” Aziraphale swallowed.

“Die?” Newton asked softly.

The principality shook his head. “They didn’t douse him with enough holy water to permanently kill him. If his body dies and he discorporates he’ll go back to hell and this time he won’t be able to come back.”

There was a moment of silence. “Get your wrists taken care of,” Anathema commanded.

“Oh. Yes. Of course.” Aziraphale looked at the raw skin. His hands were throbbing, but they didn’t hurt all _that_ bad. He knew it was not a good omen.

After sharing a look with the witch, Newton gently guided the angel to the kitchen and filled a bowl with cold water. “I don’t suppose holy water would help?” he asked, watching Aziraphale tenderly submerge his hands.

“I don’t think so,” he said morosely. “Hellfire is not kind to angels.”

The human nodded grimly. They stood in silence for a few moments, eyes cast downwards. Newton broke the quiet. “Is there anything we should do to protect the house…?”

“I can try to ward it against demons once we’re done here, but overall there isn’t a ton we can do. If you can get holy water, it will at least offer us some protection.” He was in no state to be able to bless water, especially since one had to _mean_ it and after watching what the liquid had done to his friend, he wasn’t sure he could.

Newton nodded. “I can run down to the church and see if I can get my hands on some.”

Aziraphale pulled his hands out of the water when it grew lukewarm and gingerly dabbed them dry with the softest towel they could find. Newton helped him apply ointment and wrap them, careful to include the injuries made by the rope.

Once his hands were taken care of and the angel found himself sitting on the couch by himself while Newton went looking for the church, he started to feel the ache in his hidden wings. He slowly allowed them to manifest, stretching them out to examine the damage. They hurt less than they did when they were folded, that was for sure.

The feathers along the bottom were all singed black with more damage to the undersides of the wings. The muscle beneath was clearly burned as well, but not nearly as badly as his hands. He would have to remove most of the feathers, he realized. That would not be a fun process. Hopefully the damage wasn’t so bad they wouldn’t grow back.

“Aziraphale?” Anathema called.

The principality shot to his feel and hurried into the bedroom, forcing himself to close his wings as to not knock things over. “What’s wrong? He’s not…”

She shook her head. “I just need some help with his wings. I don’t know very much about them I’m afraid.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath to calm himself. Of course that’s all it was. He could do that. The young witch had already finished wrapping Crowley’s torso, though the white cloth was already dotted with blood soaking through. A wet rag was draped over his forehead and a blanket had been draped over his lower half.

“I’ll have to go back and give him stitches,” Anathema admitted, seeing where the angel’s eyes were. “I just needed to get the burns covered before I could focus on anything else, and I need to set his bones before I can risk moving him any more than we already have. Fortunately he’s not bleeding badly enough to be in danger on that front.”

Swallowing, Aziraphale nodded and moved around the bed to help tend Crowley’s decimated wings. Most of his plumage had already been removed, but they had to pluck the rest of his crumpled feathers to get at the torn flesh beneath. The angel helped set the bones and hold them steady while Anathema applied a balm to any gashes and holy water burns before wrapping soft gauze around them. Crowley whimpered occasionally. Each sound me made felt like a shot to the heart. Once the protective layer was in place, the witch layered formable splints to the wings and wrapped them again.

“I’ll take care of your wings once I finish with Crowley,” Anathema promised without looking up.

Aziraphale said nothing. He sat back, grasping one of Crowley’s hands in his own even though the pressure caused them to ache. The demon’s breathing came in shallow, uneven gasps. Sometimes it stopped altogether, but his presence never flickered so the angel didn’t fret too much.

“Newt!” came a call from outside.

“Now’s not a good time, Adam,” came the man’s reply.

“We can help you carry those,” Pepper’s voice piped in.

“Oh no, I’m sure I can handle it-”

Aziraphale reluctantly stood and went to investigate, finding four children each carrying two four-pint milk jugs. Newton stood protesting in the doorway, hands empty.

Adam’s face lit up as he noticed him. “Aziraphale!” he looked about, peering around the angel to see into the living room. “Where’s Crowley?”

His gaze met Newton’s from across the kitchen. “He’s…”

Adam’s eyes zeroed in on the principality’s bandaged hands and he suddenly pushed past him, followed by the rest of the Them. “Oh no, that’s not a good idea, now’s really not-” Aziraphale spluttered, following them around the corner to where the group of children had stopped in the doorway to the room. They stared at the broken demon on the bed. Anathema had unwrapped part of his abdomen and was stitching together one of the larger gashes made by the blessed sword.

“He’s got a big one on his back I’ll need your help getting to, Aziraphale,” the witch said calmly. She looked up at the children after tying off the last stitch. “What are you four doing standing there?”

“What happened?” Brian asked, eyes wide.

Anathema’s eyes flicked to the fidgeting angel. “I’d like to know that as well.”

Aziraphale licked his lips. “Angels,” was all he said after brief deliberation. “Angels happened.”

He scooted past the kids to help Anathema sit Crowley up, but he paused. “His wings.”

“We can help!” Adam offered, darting into the room. His gang was quick behind him, crowding around the bed. “What do we need to do?”

The witch looked torn for a moment – but only a moment. “Just hold his wings steady while we lift him up; try to keep them even with us.”

The children nodded determinedly and split two to a wing, gently wrapping their arms around them.

“On three,” Anathema directed before counting. Aziraphale winced, hands burning as he steadied his friend’s head and lifted him. Newton squeezed into the packed room to help keep Crowley from falling forward. 

The demon moaned softly, eyelids twitching, but didn’t wake up more than that. The children had all gone pale, but they held steady as Anathema sewed the worst of the cuts. It was clear she was trying to hurry, but she still made sure to do an adequate job and re-wrap them quickly.

“I thought demons couldn’t get burned,” Wensleydale said quietly as they carefully lowered the unconscious demon back to the bed. 

“This was holy water,” Aziraphale replied just as quietly.

The silence in the room was palpable.

“Alright kids let’s give them some space,” Newton said suddenly, shooing the Them out of the small room.

Adam resisted. “Maybe I can fix it?”

The adults just looked at him, so he stood next to the bed and stared intently at Crowley’s sweaty face. Nothing happened. The rebellious antichrist scowled with frustration.

“It’s angelic work, Adam,” Anathema said kindly, “but thank you for trying.”

The boy’s shoulders slumped, but he obediently followed the rest of his gang back into the living room.

“I got the holy water,” Newton told them. “I told the father we were expecting a visit and wanted to be prepared.”

“I guess it’s a good thing he was paying attention last month then isn’t it,” Anathema said curtly. Aziraphale didn’t understand her chill towards the church, but he thought it might be related to the whole ‘suffer not a witch to live’ thing.

Newton joined the kids in the main living area and they began preparing the house for any sort of invasion.

“Did I miss anything?” Anathema asked, finally sitting back after bandaging the last wound requiring sutures.

Aziraphale bit his lip. Should he tell her about the last thing they did to his friend? What could she even do about that? He wasn’t sure how much damage it had caused. In the end he decided to respect what little privacy Crowley had left and shook his head.

She sighed. “Then that’s the best I can do for now. Let’s look at your wings now.”

They had to move to the couch so he had the space to stretch out his wings without jostling Crowley’s. Brian and Wensleydale both gaped in awe when they saw the angel’s full wingspan. He wished they could have seen the demon’s in their full glory; his sleek black feathers were one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen.

Adam nudged them on their way, having seen them before. They had work to do. Pepper was polite enough not to stare.

Aziraphale winced with every dead feather they removed, staring forlornly at the gaps in his plumage. The liberally applied ointment Anathema smothered his exposed flesh in immediately relieved the pain, making the angel sigh in relief. He hoped it helped Crowley just as much as it was helping him.

Once they finished, the angel put away his wings and returned to the bedroom to sit next to his demon. He caressed his hand and gazed at his face. He couldn’t bring himself to look at all the bandages that clothed the rest of him.

He felt Anathema’s presence in the room behind him and tensed.

“I know why you wouldn’t want to tell the kids, but… what actually happened?”

He deflated. “They came for us,” he murmured, unable to tear his eyes away from his demon. “Gabriel and a group of rogue angels. They came to punish us… for our involvement in stopping Armageddon.”

There was silence, encouraging the principality to continue.

“They decided… they hurt him to punish me.” His voice quivered, and he dropped his head into his hands, barely cringing at the pain doing so caused. “This is all my fault!”

A gentle hand rested on his shoulder. “It’s not all your fault,” she soothed.

“It is though!” he wailed. “I- they- he-” he choked on his words, hiccupping as he looked back up at Crowley. “They figured out that I- that I- and then they- oh, I’ve ruined everything!” He buried his face again.

“It’s not hard to see that you love him,” she murmured.

“But why did they have to figure that out _now_? He didn’t know; he _shouldn’t_ know. He’s a demon, how can he… and now he’s going to hay- _hate_ me because they-” he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud. It was too crude, too violent. He could still see his dead face, sagged in shock and pain as they fucked him.

The witch waited for him to elaborate for only a moment. “What did they do?”

He looked finally looked up at her, a wretched, forlorn hopelessness on his face. It was all she needed. The ashy tone her skin took on meant she understood. She took a deep breath, expression settling into one of hard anger. “Right then. They won’t get him again.”

Aziraphale was able to give her a weak, grateful smile before he dropped his head again. He wasn’t one much for sleep, but he was so tired…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and comments guys! I'll try to update every day, with the exception of days I work (the weekends basically) and get this finished for you!
> 
> Thanks for pointing out grammar/spelling errors politely, and please keep doing so!


	3. Adrift

Crowley was drowning. At least, this is what he imagined drowning felt like. He was floating in a haze of pain, each breath choking him and burning his throat. He struggled to reach some sort of surface, but he didn’t have the strength to move. His limbs were so heavy…

He caught snatches of sound, though he couldn’t make out much. Bits of words, bits of sobbing, bits of muttering… he knew he was somewhere different, but he couldn’t tell where.

He bobbed up long enough to feel hands on him and shots of pain lancing through his wings. He tried to dive back under, preferring the haze of general hurt to the very specific, very sharp agony that danced across his body. He whimpered.

It was sometime later that he heard wailing, the first real thing to draw his focus. “Zira…” he tried to call, but it was barely a sigh between his lips. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and comfort his best friend.

“Now he’s going to hay- _hate_ me-” the hiccuping sobs broke clear through the darkness.

 _No, Zira, don’t cry…_ Crowley wanted to call, trying to reach towards his friend. _I don’t hate you, I could never hate you…_ He would take everything they threw at him if it meant Aziraphale would be safe and unharmed. He’d do it all again, every night, if he could protect him.

An eternity passed before Crowley found himself able to open his eyes and squint at a foreign ceiling. There was a weight over him, wrapping around his limbs. There was a dull burning throughout his being. He groaned.

Something twitched in his right hand and the demon rolled his head to see Aziraphale passed out against the side of the bed, bandaged hands still clutching Crowley’s.

“…Zira…phale?” he mumbled thickly. He felt hot all over and found his throat didn’t want to work properly.

The principality stirred and groggily looked up, blinking at the demon for a moment before his eyes widened and he shot up. “Crowley?”

“ ‘S me,” he slurred. “Where… ‘m I?”

Tears were already filling his friend's eyes as he smiled in relief. “We’re at Jasmine Cottage, with Anathema and Newton. Don’t worry, we’re safe,” he said.

Crowley tugged his hand out of the angel’s grasp, wincing as the movement caused his entire arm to burn. Aziraphale’s face fell slightly, looking stung but resigned. “Don’ cry,” the demon said, slowly reaching up to wipe the tears off his friend’s face with trembling fingers. “ ‘M alright…”

Aziraphale’s bottom lip trembled. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, voice breaking. “It’s all my fault, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“Shhhh,” Crowley tried, though it came out more like a hiss. His eyelids drooped, too heavy for him to keep open. The darkness was pulling him back. “ ‘M okay, ‘s not your fault.” He considered a thought for a moment. “Hands?”

The angel looked down at his bandaged digits. “I held them in hellfire. To break the rope,” he explained haltingly.

“Tha’sssssilly…” it was more of a sigh than speech.

“I had to, to get to you… Crowley? _Crowley_?”

The panicked voice caused his eyes to flutter open again for just another moment.

“I’ll be alrigh',” he promised. “Zira?”

“Yes dear?”

“…Ssstay with me?”

Soft hands caught his as it fell and gently guided it back to his side. “I’m right here. I won’t go anywhere.”

His voice was already fading again as Crowley sank, but before he completely slipped under again he managed to breathe three more words. “…love you, Zira…”

_____________________

Aziraphale wasn’t sure he heard what he thought he heard. He couldn’t have, could he? Crowley was delirious. He could only stay awake for a few moments, could he really have said…

“Did I hear you talking?” Newton asked from the door, causing Aziraphale to jump.

“He woke up, but only for a minute.”

Anathema appeared behind her boyfriend. “What did he say?”

The angel shrugged. “He wanted to know where he was, and then he told me he’s okay.”

“Did he say if anything hurts?”

He shook his head.

The witch relaxed. “Well, he woke up, which is good. Just make sure to keep him cool. If we can get the fever to break, we might be able to keep him conscious long enough to see what we need to focus on.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Any sign of Hell?”

“Not yet,” Newton replied. “Adam and company went home about an hour ago too. We didn’t want them here if anything goes down.”

The angel agreed and turned back to the bed, barely noticing when the humans left him again. Would Crowley remember anything? Would he blame him once he fully came to and realized what Aziraphale has caused?

Guilt crashed over him again, and this time the demon wasn’t awake to try to comfort him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks guys for reading and leaving kudos and comments! I'm really enjoying writing this and I'm glad you like it. Hopefully the next chapter will be a bit longer!


	4. A Little Bit of Progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley finally wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I made a couple minor edits in the first chapter and added another thought to this one. I'll also be going through the other chapters to adjust some wording, but nothing major there. I'll be uploading the newest chapter later today (July 24). Thanks for you patience!

Crowley had slept for ages before; once, Aziraphale had grown worried and gone looking for him, only to find the demon had been tucked into bed the entire decade.

This was different though. This time he wasn’t just peacefully snoozing away like he had in the past. He kept twitching in his sleep, wincing and groaning, and even crying out on occasion. Aziraphale rarely left his side, only allowing himself to be dragged away when Anathema needed the space to work on bandages or they needed his help warding against any invaders. So far, they hadn’t been found. Even though it had been three weeks, Aziraphale found himself on edge every time their defenses weakened.

“Has he woken up again yet?” Anathema asked without any conviction.

The angel shook his head. She’d asked every day, and the answer was still the same. Nothing more than indistinct rumblings.

She watched them from the doorway for a few more moments before sighing. “The Them are on their way; their parents are all going to… something, I don’t know, a social of some sort, so they’re coming to stay here. Mrs. Young called and asked if the kids could stay the night; I thought it couldn’t hurt since we’ve gone this long without sign of attack. Would you help me prepare the other guest room upstairs?”

Aziraphale stiffened at the thought of leaving Crowley’s side. “…Can’t Newt help you?”

“He’s run to the store for groceries. We’re going to be feeding four teenagers, after all.”

His shoulders slumped, but the angel couldn’t refuse. He already owed her so much for everything she’d done – and was still doing – to help them. With a resigned sigh he stood and followed her up the stairs.

_________________

Crowley was not accustomed to having nightmares. Usually when he slept he was able to direct his own dreams, but he found himself tossed around the darkness, like driftwood in a midnight storm. Snatches of memories sometimes flashed across his mind like lightning. It was the only reprieve he got from the burning ache in his limbs, though the demon found he quite preferred the physical pain to the torment the dreams brought him.

 _“We’re not having this conversation! Not another word!”_ Aziraphale stormed away, leaving Crowley to stare after him and throw his hands in the air. He’d tried to act like it didn’t matter all that much, but it had hurt. 4500 years and Aziraphale was still determined to do extra work. They hadn’t seen much of each other to that point, but this moment had _stung_.

The memory was gone as fast as it came, flickering out of the sky and leaving Crowley churning in the tempest of pain again. 

_“He’s not my friend. We don’t know each other.”_ He’d allowed a smirk to pull at his face for the benefit of the men around them, hiding the burning inside. They’d started meeting on purpose at this point and have even finally come to the Arrangement. It was why Crowley was there in the first place.

Back to the sea. This gap seemed to last longer, but it wasn’t long before another crack of energy lit his mind. He watched hopelessly as his friend stormed away, flinging a scrap of paper into the river. No words filled his head this time, just the image of the angel’s angry face.

And darkness again. This time the words echoed in his mind like thunder long before the image appeared, and they remained long after it faded. _“You go too fast for me, Crowley.”_ He felt like he was going to explode, the heartbreak threatening to do what the angels had not. He had the distinct impression the angel was not talking about his driving.

There was a particularly loud crack as every cruel thing Aziraphale had said to him during the time they’d been looking after Warlock crashed over his head and drove him down. Every sleight, every hurt, magnified a hundred times.

_“I don’t even like you!”_

Crowley let out a choked sob. What had he ever done to deserve _that_? He’d gone out of his way to protect and take care of Aziraphale for centuries. He performed miracles the Arrangement didn’t call for simply to make his best friend happy. He didn’t _have_ to save him from the guillotine in France. He didn’t _have_ to help Hamlet along. He didn’t _have_ to waltz into a church, drop a bomb, and save some books. He did it all for _him_. He _chose_ to, even after they fought. He always came back, always tried to make things right. Even after all this, he loved him.

Eventually the storm subsided, and Crowley felt himself rising again. There was faint light now. He reached for it, trying to drag himself out of the water – and it worked. He found himself in a bed, blinking up at an empty room. He vaguely remembered that he was at Anathema’s.

The next thing to hit him was panic. _Aziraphale was gone!_

Crowley immediately tried to get up and find him but discovered he couldn't. Everything ached and when he attempted to move agony flared through him. He cried out, breath coming in rapid gasps as he realized his wings were completely immobilized and the rest of him was still encased in bandages with a blanket over him from the waist down. Despite there being no proper bonds, he was trapped. What if the angels had gotten them? What if they were just waiting for him to wake up to continue where they left off?

There was the sound of clattering footsteps and Aziraphale was suddenly in the room, throwing himself to the bed’s side. “Crowley!” he exclaimed, hands hovering over the demon’s body as if trying to decide where was safe to touch and _if_ he could touch.

“You- you _promisssed-_ ” Crowley choked, trying to catch his frantic breaths.

“I’m here,” Aziraphale said, finally deciding to clasp the demon’s hand between both of his own.

Anathema appeared in the doorway moments later.

“You ssssaid you’d _ssstay-_ ”

A guilty look came over the witch’s face. “He did,” she said, fully stepping into the room. “I made him come upstairs with me just now. He’s been with you the rest of the time.”

Crowley’s rapid breathing finally began to slow and he realized he was gripping Aziraphale’s hand so tightly it hurt. He couldn’t bring himself to loosen his fingers for another few moments. “H-hurts…” he whimpered, the pain in his body coming back to the forefront of his mind.

“What hurts?” Anathema asked while a worried line creased Aziraphale’s brow.

“Everything.”

Her mouth thinned, but she spun on her head and marched from the room.

“Can you remember anything?”

The demon’s eyes snapped back to his friend. He hesitated before deciding to tell him the truth. “Most of it, I think. Some parts are hazy.”

The angel’s bottom lip trembled slightly. “Do you remember what you said when you woke up before?” he seemed anxious.

“I… I asked you to stay…” He squinted. “Did I say something else?”

He almost thought he saw disappointment flicker over the Aziraphale’s face, but it was so quick he had to be imagining it. “Just that you were fine.”

“Am I?”

The angel’s lips twitched, eyes shining.

Crowley felt his heart rate rising again. “Am I?” he asked again, an edge of hysteria to his words this time.

“You will be,” Anathema said firmly as she re-entered the room with an armful of various medical supplies. She walked around to the other side of the bed and set everything on a small table to the left. She had to lean awkwardly over his wing, which was set straight out to his side and held up with a kitchen stool. She offered him a couple pills and gently lifted his head to help him drink some water to help them down. The demon gratefully gulped them down, though he was more relieved for the water as he didn’t know how the pills were going to help. His throat had been so dry.

“Your hands,” he croaked once they were done, turning back to Aziraphale. The being no longer had bandages around them, though the skin still felt dry and leathery against his own.

“Anathema has been taking very good care of the both of us,” Aziraphale explained.

Any reply Crowley had was cut off by the ringing of a doorbell.

“That’ll be the kids,” Anathema said without looking up. “Would you let them in?”

The demon tightened his grip on his friend's hands, body going rigid and wide amber eyes meeting blue. Something was conveyed in that look that allowed Crowley to relax and let him go to the door. 

“Are you going to stay awake this time?” the witch asked as soon as they were alone. Crowley nodded, eliciting a smile from his caretaker. “Good. That means we’ll have a better idea of how to help you.”

Aziraphale was back in a flash, four children close behind him. Anxiety swelled in Crowley’s chest. “No, they can’t see-”

“It’s okay,” Aziraphale soothed, reclaiming his seat. “They’ve been here to help out a few times already.”

Embarrassment rose in the demon’s face before he fully processed the implications of ‘a few times’.

“You’re awake!” Adam crowed before clarification could be asked. The Them crowded around the bed, clamoring for their patient’s attention. It seemed they were all very proud of their hand in taking care of him and all wanted him to know how excited they were that he was finally getting better.

“Kids,” Anathema warned, sounding for all the world like a tired mother.

The Them immediately quieted, Pepper shooting a glare and her friends.

After sharing a look with his best friend, Crowley finally managed a quiet “thank you” to the group.

"Okay, let's get the unpleasant part done first," the witch said firmly. 

"What..." Crowley was almost afraid to ask. Scratch that; he most definitely _was_ afraid.

"Hey kids, why don't you start taking your things upstairs?" Aziraphale said suddenly. Adam and his friends started to protest, but a sharp look from the witch sent them shuffling out. Aziraphale closed the door behind them and returned to his chair.

Anathema gave him a sympathetic look. "I don't really know the extent of what holy water does to demons, and while it looks like most of the damage was done to your skin and surface tissue, I need to make sure. More than that, the bruises on your abdomen worry me. I need to check for internal damage, and unfortunately I need you awake to do that."

He didn't like the sound of that. "Why?"

"I need you to tell me where it hurts the most."

Crowley's breathing sped up. "But everything hurts."

"I know," Anathema said. Her expression was irritatingly close to pity. "It's not going to be pleasant."

The demon looked to Aziraphale for help, but his friend just looked away with a grimace and tightened his hold on his hand.

The witch bit her lip and layered both her hands over a spot on Crowley's upper right stomach. His hand clenched around Aziraphale's and he let out a sharp cry as she pressed. She didn't push hard, but Heaven did it _hurt_. Anathema shifted her hands and pressed in a different spot. Crowley trembled and whimpered as she methodically worked her way across his abdomen. What was only a few minutes seemed much longer and the demon wasn't able to stop the tears leaking from his eyes. Aziraphale was squeezing both his hands around Crowley's one so tightly it ached, but it was a grounding pain. It kept him here, in this moment, instead of sending him completely back to _that_ night. Had he not already suffered enough? Why did they have to hurt him _here_ , too?

Finally it was over and Anathema gave him an anxious look. "Did any specific spot hurt more than the others?"

Crowley shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. None of the pain from her test lingered once she finished, but he still felt slightly betrayed. When the demon glanced back over to Aziraphale, he had to stop. His friend was suddenly a _wreck_. His eyes were pink and shone with tears while his lips trembled. Crowley inhaled sharply and forced himself to collect his composure. "I'm alright," he tried giving him a small smile. He was pretty sure it looked more like a grimace. Aziraphale said nothing.

The witch visibly relaxed at his answer, relief flooding her face. "Good. That means you probably don't have any internal bleeding, and I didn't feel anything weird." She abruptly stood up and went to the door. “Let’s sit you up,” she said.

“I can’t… I can’t move,” Crowley told her softly. “It hurts.”

“That’s where they come in,” she replied, opening the door to beckon in the group of kids sitting in the main living room. "We need your help," she told them. They jumped up and rushed in, already splitting in two and shoving their way along the edges of the bed to line up at his immobilized wings.

The moment they wrapped their arms around them he began to panic again. His vision blurred, and his breaths came in ragged gasps as he spluttered and flopped in the bed in an automatic attempt to escape. The movement caused searing pain to fill his body and he was suddenly choking on sobs. He was aware that he was sputtering words, but he wasn't sure what he was saying.

A gentle hand cupped his face as the other wrapped itself into his right hand again. “It’s okay, it’s okay!” Aziraphale’s grounding voice tore through the haze of terror surrounding him. “Just breathe, it’s okay!”

Crowley’s panic gradually subsided. It wasn’t until he could fully breathe again, and his vision focused on Aziraphale that he realized there were tears running down his face. The angel’s expression was twisted with a slew of emotions.

He became aware of the other concerned faces around him. The Them had backed away several steps and were staring at him with a combination of fear, concern, and confusion.

Crowley heaved a few more deep breaths. “I- It’s okay, I’m okay. I’m sorry. I can sit up.”

The four youngsters approached more cautiously this time. Crowley had to close his eyes and grind his teeth to keep from flinching away from their touch again. They were gentler this time too.

“Crowley, dear, I need my hands,” Aziraphale said softly, causing the demon to realize he was clenching his fists and one still held this friend captive. He forced himself to release him even though he craved the comfort his touch brought. 

It was with great relief that the being's hands slid tenderly under his back, one cradling his head as they counted and lifted. Crowley grunted, shuddering as he tried to hold still for them while Anathema peeled the coverings from his back and poked at him. He winced every time she touched him, but he was able to keep any further noises of discomfort internal. It didn't stop Aziraphale from flinching each time. 

The sound of a car door slamming broke the tense silence. The front door opening and closing again was quick to follow, and Newton’s voice came from the main room. “Anathema?”

“In here,” she replied.

“You could have waited for me to help,” the former witchfinder said, voice growing louder as he entered.

Crowley forced himself to crack an eye open and squint at him for a moment. The thought of even _more_ hands on him made his heart stutter. “I think they’ve got it,” he rasped.

The human startled, but a smile split his face. “Oh good, you’ve woken up! How long?” This last bit was directed at his girlfriend.

“Just a few minutes.” She applied some sort of salve to the raw skin of Crowley’s back and he couldn’t help a sigh of relief at its coolness. She noticed. “Your burns are healing better than we expected,” she told him.

Crowley swallowed. “I didn’t know you _could_ heal holy water burns.”

“What does it feel like?” Adam piped up.

The demon froze, unable to even draw oxygen. There was a tense silence while he and Aziraphale held eye contact. Once again, the crystal blue calmed him. “It’s like jumping into a volcano,” he whispered without breaking his gaze from the angel. “It’s the second worst thing you can imagine.”

“What the worst thing?” Brian asked quietly.

Snake eyes flicked to him for only a moment before returning to Aziraphale and then closing again. He licked his lips nervously. 

“That’s enough,” Anathema broke in, saving Crowley from answering. “Back down slowly.”

Once he was laying down again the children were dismissed. Newton followed them out to entertain them and give the three left in the guest room privacy. Crowley locked his gaze on the ceiling and kept it there, aching body finally going limp. _What’s the worst thing…_

He really didn’t want to put it into words. He could vaguely remember what Gabriel had said towards the end, about Aziraphale… but dare he believe it?

______________

Aziraphale burned with guilt. He thought watching the demon sleeping and wondering when he was going to wake up was going to be the hardest part, but he was wrong. He’d rather let Crowley rest than see the tension and pain on his face every time he moved or someone touched him. For some reason he kept the angel’s hand clenched in his own. The grip was tight enough to be uncomfortable, but Aziraphale couldn’t bear to ask him to let go.

Crowley kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling as Anathema unwrapped his wings to check their progress. If it was hard for Aziraphale to look at them, it must be far worse for the demon himself. He’d always prided himself on his wings and taken extra good care of them. To have them so completely destroyed had to be devastating. 

The principality had never seen Crowley cry before that night and he didn’t like seeing him cry now. His sudden flailing when the kids had originally tried to lift him worried Aziraphale to no end. The only way to describe it was as a panic attack. But demons didn’t _have_ panic attacks, did they?

“Your wings are coming along well too. Another week or two and we can probably take the splints off for good,” Anathema smiled.

Crowley didn’t reply beyond a tiny nod.

“I’m going to go back upstairs. Call me if you need anything.” The witch left the room, closing the door so it was only open a small crack.

Aziraphale waited until he heard her footsteps on the stairs to finally break down. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, bringing his free hand to cover his face. “This is all my fault. I’m so sorry!”

“No, no, don’t cry angel,” Crowley tightened his grip on the hand he had and reached up with the other to uncover the principality’s face. “It’s not your fault. I’m the one who talked you into disobedience. This is on me.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “I should have known they would come back for us… I always said Gabriel was not one to cross. He always comes looking for more…”

The demon gave him a weak smile. “It was inevitable. They gave us two years; they’ve got to be getting antsy to start Armageddon again.” He winced as he shifted. “I’ll be okay. I’m in good hands. I have you.”

Blue eyes finally found the strength to meet gold as his heart thumped painfully loud. He wanted to ask… wanted to _tell_ … but instead he moved on. “Gabriel said Beelzebub was waiting for you to discorporate.”

Though he didn’t think it was possible, Crowley grew even _more_ pale. His jaw worked for a minute. “Thank you,” he finally whispered.

“What for?”

“Not letting me.” Crowley shuddered. “I don’t even want to imagine what they’d do to me down there.”

“It doesn’t bear thinking about,” the angel agreed.

The sat in silence for a good while after that, just enjoying each other’s company. Aziraphale needed to know if Crowley really did remember all of it, or if he’d already been too far gone when Gabriel figured it out, but he was afraid to bring it up. He clearly didn’t remember what he’d said before passing out last time. The angel almost wondered if he’d made it up.

Before he could pluck up the courage to just spit it out, Crowley asked a question of his own. “Do you think they’ll grow back?” He was staring at the ceiling again.

It took Aziraphale a second to realize what he was talking about. His heart sank. “I don’t know. They were in pretty bad shape.” He resisted the urge to reach out to the bandaged wing at his side. If the demon’s terror at having them touched before was any clue, he wouldn’t take kindly to it. Besides, both his hands were currently trapped in the iron-vice of Crowley’s grasp.

The demon sighed and closed his eyes, throat bobbing as he swallowed. He opened his mouth but closed it again without a sound. “I’m scared, Zira,” he finally admitted.

“Me too.”

“They’re going to come looking, you know,” Crowley looked back up at him.

“I know.”

“Why are the kids here?”

“It’s been three weeks and there’s no sign. Anathema thought it would be safe to let them stay the night while their parents are out.”

Crowley’s mouth thinned. “I wish she hadn’t burned that book.”

The angel nodded solemnly. “It certainly could have been useful.”

“I’m going back to sleep,” the demon said.

“I won’t leave the house,” Aziraphale promised. “I’ll be right here when you need me.”

The corners of Crowley’s mouth twitched, but he quickly sank back into sleep, hands relaxing around the angel’s. Aziraphale waited until he was sure the demon was completely under before slowly leaning over him and placing a gentle kiss to his forehead and slipping quietly from the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me guys! This is the last chapter I have ready and I work the next three days so I probably won't be able to post again until Monday. That being said, I'll work on it around my shift so I can get you an update as soon as possible! Sorry for another slow chapter; things will pick up soon, I promise!


	5. A Little Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thank you so much for all the support and lovely comments! I live on comments, really!
> 
> Thank you also for you patience while I am on vacation and editing everything else. The changes I made were pretty minor for the most part, but I did add some stuff in for Anathema's physical exam right after Crowley woke up. Nothing too crazy though!
> 
> Huge thanks to Phineyj for beta reading this chapter and giving me the idea for the change to the previous chapters!

Three days later and Crowley was going stir crazy. Adam’s parents had been held up out of town (the demon strongly suspected the former anti-christ had something to do with it) and the gang ended up staying with them. That meant there was often at least one teenager sitting in his room bombarding him with questions. Some were innocent, like asking about Rome or King Arthur, and others were about things he didn’t want to answer, like the Spanish Inquisition. He humored them as much as he could, since he didn’t have anything else to do, but Aziraphale was good about shooing the kids from the room whenever Crowley started to get irritable.

“At least you can sit up on your own now,” his friend said while Anathema reapplied burn salve to Crowley’s back.

The demon scowled. “But you still need to hold my wings up.”

“Everything I’ve read says it only takes two to three weeks for wing bones to heal,” Anathema reminded him for the third time that day.

Crowley’s scowl deepened. _Small_ bird’s wings, maybe. But he was not small, and his wings were not bird wings.

“How does everything else feel?” Newton asked from the doorway, where he stood to make sure the kids didn’t come back inside and crowd them.

“It hurts,” Crowley snapped, then immediately felt bad. “But it hurts less. I think once the worst of it is healed, I’ll be able to finish healing the rest of it.”

“Good,” the witch poking at him replied curtly.

To his relief they didn’t ask any further questions and left him alone with Aziraphale again. Crowley found he rather liked how much time he was spending on his own with his friend, even though he couldn’t exactly do much. Most of the time Aziraphale read out loud. Today he elected to read Hamlet, which left Crowley both incredibly annoyed and amused. “Come on, you know I only like the funny ones,” he protested the moment he saw it.

“But it owes its success to you!” Aziraphale reminded, as though he would forget.

“No, it doesn’t. The credit is all yours.”

His companion’s brow furrowed. “I know I asked, but surely you found some way to benefit from it?”

Crowley shook his head. “I actually got a slap on the wrist for that one. It wasn’t a small miracle, and I didn’t even tempt anyone.”

Aziraphale stared at him for a moment. “Why-”

“Aziraphale, can I speak to you for a moment?” Anathema interrupted from the door. “I’ll only be a moment,” she added when she saw Crowley tense, as he’d been unable to keep himself from doing any time his friend was called away from his side. He always feared something bad would happen the moment they were separated, regardless of the warding around the house.

Aziraphale gave him a reassuring smile and followed the witch out of the room. She closed the door behind them, leaving Crowley alone in silence.

_________________

It was with great apprehension that Aziraphale joined Anathema and Newt in the kitchen, where Crowley wouldn’t be able to hear them. Whatever it was she needed to talk to him about, it must be bad if she couldn’t say it to the demon as well. That coupled with the couple’s sombre expressions made his stomach churn.

“Yes?” Aziraphale said while wringing his hands.

“We need to discuss Crowley,” Anathema said firmly.

“What about him?”

“You need to talk to him about what happened.” The witch leaned against the counter, folding her arms.

Aziraphale blanched. “I… I can’t. I tried, but he just closes up.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You haven’t tried very hard,” she accused, and the principality couldn’t deny it. He’d only brought it up once. 

“I’m scared to,” he admitted.

“Why?” Newt asked.

The angel fidgeted under their scrutiny. “I… Once we start talking about it, he’s going to realize it’s all my fault and I’m scared he won’t… I’m scared he’ll leave me. Heaven’s cut me off; without him, I have no one.”

Anathema stared at him, icy gaze piercing right through him. “Do you know how selfish you are?”

“I- what?”

A quiet rage gave a frightening undercurrent to her calm words. “You’ve had two weeks to process what happened. He’s had three days.”

The principality opened his mouth and closed it a few times, unable to find a response. He hadn’t thought about it that way. He was so wracked with guilt he hadn’t even stoppedb to consider what Crowley was going through himself.

“I would talk to him myself, but I wasn’t there. You experienced the trauma together,” the witch continued.

“Watching everything must have been traumatic,” Newt added, “but he was physically _tortured_.” His voice was quiet, as though he didn’t want to contribute to the conversation but had to.

“I didn’t think about that,” Aziraphale murmured, gaze dropping to his feet. He clasped his hands together in front of him.

“ _Talk_ to him,” Anathema pleaded, voice softening.

Anxiety gripped his chest, but he nodded. They all stood there awkwardly for a second before Aziraphale shuffled back to the room, eyes still downcast.

“What did she want?” Crowley asked the moment the door opened again, leaning forward off his pillow rest with wide eyes.

“Um,” Aziraphale swallowed. Did they talk about it now, or later? How long would Anathema let him go before scolding him again? He opted for the truth. “She thinks we should talk about what happened.”

Crowley froze.

The principality gingerly sat back down, staring at his friend.

“I don’t…” he trailed off.

“She’s right,” Aziraphale prodded. “What… what exactly do you remember?”

Crowley’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, staring straight ahead and refusing to look at the angel to his right. Said angel didn’t blame him. “They had us tied up,” he finally said. “You were in a ring of fire.”

Aziraphale nodded but didn’t interrupt.

“They had blessed weapons. Swords, I think?” He paused, face scrunching as he thought. “They hurt.”

“Holy swords, yes,” Aziraphale murmured.

Crowley’s eyes finally darted to him for a moment. “I was trying… I tried not to let them see. To keep strong for you. Then the holy water… that was hard.” He swallowed, eyes shining as he finally met his friend’s gaze. “When they went for my wings… I couldn’t. I panicked.” He looked sorrowfully at the splints supporting the appendages that were once beautifully cared for.

Aziraphale’s heart hurt for him. He knew Crowley had always taken pride in his wings, and it was no surprise their destruction had been what finally broke him. More than that, though, was the revelation that he had been trying to put on a face for _him_. He’d just thought it didn’t affect him as much as Gabriel and the rogues had hoped. “Why did you try… for me?” he asked softly.

“Everyone assumes because I’m a demon I enjoy pain, to an extent. That I have some sort of higher tolerance for it. That I would maybe even _like_ what they did to me.” He grimaced. “I don’t, and I really, _really_ didn’t.” His gaze fell to his lap. “They were hurting me to punish you. I thought if I could hold it together and pretend everything was fine, it would hurt you less.”

“I…” he didn’t know what to say. “Do… do you remember anything else?” he finally continued.

Crowley’s eyes widened just a fraction and his hands tightened on the blankets, balling them into his fists. “It’s hazy, but I remember they… after my wings they…” his bottom lip trembled. He kept his eyes firmly on his lap. His next words came so softly Aziraphale almost didn’t hear them. “They fucked me.” He said ‘fucked’ with a tremor that suggested he could barely bring himself to say it.

More than anything, Aziraphale wanted to reach out and hold him. His hands twitched, but he stopped himself. “Do you know why?” he whispered.

The demon sat still for a moment before closing his eyes. His voice stayed the same volume. “They thought you love me.”

Aziraphale swallowed. “I… do,” he breathed.

Crowley’s eyes shot open and he stared at Aziraphale. “What?”

It was the angel’s turn to close his eyes and take a deep breath. “I love you.”

There was silence.

The was a rushing sound in Aziraphale’s ears. “That’s why they… did that. Because I love you.”

More silence. He couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes.

Crowley finally spoke. “You can’t.”

Aziraphale felt his lips tremble but squeezed his eyes tighter shut. “Why not?”

“You’ll fall.”

Now he looked at the demon, confused.

“I’m not worth that,” he continued, wringing the blanket in his hands as he once again looked everywhere but at Aziraphale. “I don’t deserve it. I’m just a thing, Heaven’s scapegoat. You can do anything to me – except love me.”

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale said gently, finally reaching out and turning the demon’s face to him. He didn’t fight it. The expression on his face broke the last pieces of doubt in his mind: Heaven had lied. Demons weren’t just the empty husks of former angels; they could _feel_ , just like non-Fallen could. Guilt lanced through him again, but this time for an entirely different reason. “You’re not that to me.”

Amber eyes widened. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t give me hope. Please. I don’t think I could bear it. Not now.”

“Why?”

Crowley trembled. “Because. Because… I love you too.”


	6. Everything Comes to an End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm shit at chapter titles guys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter for you! Just so you guys have a heads up, I am moving in a couple weeks and school will be starting back up again, and I go on holiday at the end of August, meaning it will be a very busy month for me. I will of course keep writing, but the updates might be a little slower! I'll try to build up a bit of a buffer before I duck under; I hate leaving you guys out to dry!
> 
> Thanks again to Phineyj for the beta!

Things were certainly… different. Anathema couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or a bad one. At least Aziraphale had stopped blubbering about how everything was his fault. His guilt hadn’t really faded, but he seemed to have buried it for the time being. He and Crowley spent more time alone with the door closed – something that greatly irritated Adam and company – and as a result the demon was making leaps and bounds towards recovery. It had been only two days since she and Newt held their little intervention and already Crowley’s skin was showing much better color and he could move around a little better. He still couldn’t get out of bed, but he could at least manage his own wings with minimal grimacing.

What really had the witch on edge was the _touching_. Aziraphale had held Crowley’s hand almost constantly since they arrived, but now there was something different behind it. There were a lot of little touches; brushing Crowley’s hair from his face, adjusting the blankets, running his fingers across the demon’s palm as if he wasn’t paying attention. The demon was just as guilty, constantly reaching up to fix the principality’s bowtie or smooth his lapels.

Then there was the looking. It has always been clear the entities adored each other, but now they didn’t bother trying to hide it. At least one of them was almost always gazing at the other with such _tenderness_ it made Anathema feel like she was intruding on something very private. She’d wanted Aziraphale to talk to Crowley about what happened, but she hadn’t expected _this._

Newt refused to be alone in the room with them. Poor awkward soul.

Unfortunately, that meant _she_ was the one who had to tap on the door and intrude whenever she needed to check on Crowley’s progress or ask Aziraphale’s help.

___________________

Crowley still wasn’t sure exactly what to feel. Whenever he tried to pin an emotion down, he felt like he would explode from the effort. He was relieved, he was happy, he was flabbergasted, he was _in love_. And Aziraphale _loved him back_. He couldn’t seem to wrap his head around it. He couldn’t comprehend how someone as pure and good as his friend could love someone as dirty as him.

“Your mind is wandering again, dear,” Aziraphale murmured, trailing his fingertips down the inside of Crowley’s wrist. They’d taken off the bandages on both arms, and Anathema said they should be able to remove the rest of what covered his abdomen within a day or two.

“I can’t help it,” he said. “I still wondering if I’m dreaming.”

His friend – his _love_ – smiled at him. “Me too, sometimes.”

“But you’re not.”

“Neither are you.”

They sat in silence a while again, Crowley sighing contentedly as he lay back into the pillows. He was starting to think they might just make it out of this mess after all. He’d feel much better once he was back to his full power – trying to speed up his healing process was draining – and could reliably protect Aziraphale should anyone come calling. Even so, he could move without having to bite his lip to keep quiet and he could sit up completely on his own. Having his wings wrapped up and weighted down was still uncomfortable, but at least they didn’t hurt as much anymore. Next week he could unwrap them. One more week.

A scuffle broke out between two of the boys in the garden, breaking their peaceful quiet. Aziraphale gave a long-suffering sigh and stood to help Anathema break up the argument. Newt had already proven far too kind-hearted and awkward to get anywhere with them. Crowley was pretty sure he and Anathema weren’t at the house now anyway.

Crowley watched him go, humming quietly. The curtains in the window were drawn, but it sounded to him like Wensleydale and Brian to him, which meant Adam was either inside or had somehow instigated the fight. As both the ringleader and the eldest he usually settled these things before an adult – or ethereal being – had to get involved, but he wasn’t unknown to stir up trouble when he was particularly bored.

“Now now, boys,” Aziraphale’s voice came muffled through the glass, “there’s no need for rough housing. What’s going on?”

Two petulant accusations spilled at the same time, and Crowley did not envy his friend the task of playing nanny. He’d done that long enough.

“ _There you are.”_

Crowley’s skin pricked as the voice wafted through the house like a breeze. He heard it in his head as well as coming from outside.

“Children, get inside,” Aziraphale said firmly after a moment of silence. His tone did not allow argument.

Crowley’s hair stood on end as there were scrambling footsteps and the slam of a door.

“What’s going on?” he asked as the four teenagers burst into his room and huddled next to him.

“There was someone at the gate, someone bad,” Adam reported. Even he looked somewhat frightened. In his defense, his powers weren’t nearly as strong as they had been two years previously.

“What did he look like?” Crowley pressed, voice bordering on hysterical as he sat up.

“He had black eyes,” Pepper said, “and white hair.”

“ _Hasssstur,”_ Crowley hissed, struggling to get out of the bed.

“Don’t-”

“Anathema says-”

“No-”

“You’ll hurt yourself-”

They all protested at once, reaching out to stop him even as a weight came down on all of them. It was like the house had suddenly been pressurized. The sunlight coming through the windows vanished, leaving the house in darkness. A foreboding silence suffocated them.

“What’s happening?” Pepper finally whispered.

“They found us,” Crowley whispered back.

“Aziraphale will protect us,” Wensley said confidently.

As if on cue there was a crash and the hiss of holy water hitting demon flesh. This was confirmed by the screaming that followed. “You’ll pay for that, angel!”

Crowley had to blink for a moment. He hadn’t thought of Aziraphale as an angel since _that_ night and it was odd to hear someone else call him that.

“You won’t get in,” came Aziraphale’s reply, though there was a slight tremor to his words. This was not good.

“I need to help him-”

“You _can’t_!” Pepper said, grabbing Crowley’s arm and pulling him back. The boys helped, clutching whatever part of him they could reach without hurting him further.

“They’ll destroy him!”

This entire exchange was done in hushed voices, but Crowley’s hysteria caused his pitch to rise. Adam slapped a hand over the demon’s mouth. “Shhh!” He looked Crowley deep in the eye. He was the only one of the Them that didn’t seem bothered by his serpentine gaze. “He’ll be okay.”

There was a sudden blinding glow coming through the windows, angelic power burning through Crowley with it. He flinched back, half turning his body in a poor attempt to shield the children. He didn’t know what Holy power would do to Adam, half human as he was. The light seared his still-healing skin even through the bandages. He squeezed his eyes shut until the light faded.

“Are they dead?” Brian whispered from where the four of them had crouched behind the bed.

Crowley stared at them. “That wasn’t Aziraphale.”

There was a loud bang against the outside wall, something smashing into it with enough force to shake the room. A muffled grunt soon followed it.

_Aziraphale!_

Crowley wrenched himself free of the children’s grasp, taking advantage of their moment of distraction to escape and scramble back. His braced wings dragged against him. He burned at the effort of it, but Crowley snapped his fingers and all that was left of him were hollow bandages. The empty casts thumped to the floor where the demon had been moments before, leaving four terrified teenagers huddling together behind a bed on their own.


	7. Consequences Hit Hard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're here... they've come...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for your patience! I've actually had the chapter back for a couple days now but I've spent most of my time over at the new place helping my brother settle in and there's no wifi >.< Please forgive me!
> 
> I think there will only be one more chapter after this, but we'll see if that actually pans out the way I'm thinking about it. I want to give y'all a good ending!
> 
> As always, thank you so much to phineyj for taking the time to beta this and help me not make a fool of myself!

This must be why Heaven and Hell took so long; they were coming _together_. Hastur and the little demon with horns made from hair were a distraction. Aziraphale was able to get to the porch and douse the smaller one with some of the holy water that waited there, but before he could escape back inside the house a crushing pressure crashed around him, pinning him down as storm clouds filled the sky and completely blotted out the sunlight. There was a blinding light and suddenly four angels stood in the garden.

 _Gabriel_.

Aziraphale struggled to his feet against the weight in the air, trying to make it to their warding.

“I don’t think so,” Gabriel said quietly, swinging his hand back like he was shooing a fly – which he might have been doing because Beelzebub and Dagon had risen from the ground at that moment.

Aziraphale was flung backwards with Gabriel’s gesture, slamming into the house and dropping to the ground with a groan. He saw stars as his head bounced. This was not going well. He had to keep them from getting to Crowley –

There was a flash and the smell of smoke and Crowley appeared between the fallen principality and the seven onlookers. All his bandages were gone and from where he lay, Aziraphale could see the raw skin on his back. Two meaty appendages – Aziraphale could not bring himself to call them wings when without any feathers they looked like arms with no hands at the ends – stretched to either side of him as though he was still trying to use them to shield the fallen angel.

There was a moment of stunned silence from all parties; especially Gabriel. Then Crowley sagged and stumbled slightly with a groan and the moment was broken. Gabriel was the first to laugh as Aziraphale scrambled to his feet and moved to support Crowley so he didn’t fall.

“I have to admit, I’m surprised you’re up at _all_ ,” the archangel said, “though I can’t say I’m incredibly surprised Aziraphale found someone to keep you from discorporating.” He gave the principality a disgusted look.

Crowley sneered but didn’t say anything, leaning heavily on his friend. Aziraphale could feel sweat soaking into the demon’s already trembling body. “What did you do?” he whispered.

“Hand him over to uzzz, angel,” Beelzebub commanded, the buzzing of flies haunting their words.

The demon in question stiffened but didn’t move from where he was still trying to keep his body in front of the angel’s, even though he could barely stand.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered again, concerned.

“Shut up, Aziraphale,” Crowley hissed under his breath, eyes never leaving the line of ethereal and occult beings at the edge of the garden.

“Crowley, go back inside. You’re not strong enough yet!” the principality insisted, trying to tug his best friend back.

“He’s right, you know,” Gabriel pointed out, taking a single step forward. Crowley hissed, baring his teeth and tensing. The archangel only laughed again. “You don’t scare me, little snake. I’m the Archangel fucking Gabriel.”

Aziraphale gripped Crowley tighter.

“You can come too if you want, Aziraphale,” Gabriel offered with a nasty smile. “We were just coming for _him_ since that was the deal, but word got around, and now everybody wants a turn. I’m sure there’s room for you.”

Crowley snarled deep in his throat – an inhuman sound that would have sent a jolt of fear through Aziraphale if he hadn’t known it was on his behalf – and lunged forward. “Fuck you, Gabriel,” he hissed as his best friend kept him from tottering over. Aziraphale tugged him back a few steps to keep him from attacking.

Gabriel shrugged. “I thought about it, but you’re really not my type.”

Anger bubbled up in Aziraphale’s chest. “Enough!” he shouted, startling the slowly advancing line into stopping. “You’ve punished us. Very good. Well done. Now leave us alone! We’re not getting in your way anymore. There’s no reason for any of this!” He shifted back a little more.

“You disobeyed,” Uriel said flatly, “and you didn’t fall.”

“We have to make an example,” Michael continued.

Gabriel shrugged. “We can’t have anarchy.”

“Crowley is _ours_ ,” Dagon added.

“No,” Aziraphale stated firmly, pulling Crowley into his chest a little. “Crowley is _mine_. And you can’t have him. Ever again.”

There was another moment of stunned silence.

“What are you going to do? Fight all of us at once?” Sandalphon smiled. “Your boyfriend there isn’t going to be much help.”

All of Aziraphale’s shifting had slowly been edging them back towards the porch, where he knew the horseshoe would help against the demons – how Crowley got _out_ of it he wasn’t sure, but he hoped it would give him a way back _in_. “If I have to,” he sniffed. 

This drew the laughter of the bunch of them, giving Aziraphale more cover to make a final leap for the safety of the porch, dragging a reluctant Crowley with him. The movement caused the demons to fall silent and surge forward as one.

Crowley fell limp in Aziraphale’s arms as they crossed under the horseshoe. The angel struggled against the sudden addition of weight, but he somehow managed to get to the door before the attacking demons hit the edge of the porch. They came to an abrupt stop, staring up at the horseshoe and snarling at their retreating targets.

“Crowley, I could really use some help about now,” Aziraphale whispered, trying to free a hand to open the door. The angels were advancing now, though Gabriel himself stayed back to watch with a sinister grin.

Crowley didn’t respond.

All of their things were inside; Aziraphale couldn’t do anything else out here, especially with his best friend hanging unconscious in his embrace.

Suddenly the door was thrown open and the pair tumbled through the threshold. Three sets of hands grabbed at them and dragged them back, even as Heaven’s soldiers threw themselves across the porch. The door slammed just in time for the angels to body slam it.

“We tried to keep him from going-” Pepper started to say even as she locked the door.

“No time,” Aziraphale waved his hand to ignite the warding in the door and was rewarded with an indignant scream from outside. “Collect all the holy water inside the house and get ready.” Aziraphale took a moment to properly lift Crowley this time so he could rush him up the stairs and into one of the other bedrooms – he didn’t bother to check whose – where he would be harder to reach.

“Please be okay,” he whispered as he rested the demon on the bed. His chest was still rising and falling, but his skin was terribly pale. He lingered for only a moment before rushing back down the stairs to join the children. “Do any of you know how long Anathema and Newt planned to be gone?”

The children all shook their heads, eyes wide.

Aziraphale sighed. They couldn’t risk calling her; it’s likely their signal had been cut off with whatever had been put over the house anyway. 

“You four get upstairs and stay with Crowley. Make sure you have holy water, but _do not_ under _any_ circumstances get any on him. If it comes down to letting them take him or splashing him, you let them take him. Got it?” Aziraphale figured if they got Crowley, there was at least a chance of rescue. He couldn’t get the demon back back if he was destroyed.

They nodded, eyes wide, and each took a bottle of their best weapon and booked it.

“Let us in, Aziraphale,” Gabriel called from outside. “You’re only making it worse for the two of you.”

“Piss off,” Aziraphale muttered, pouring one of the remaining bottles of holy water into a super soaker Newt had brought back for them. 

Then he heard something that made his blood run cold: a car. “What’s going on here?” Anathema’s voice said.

“Nothing to worry about,” Gabriel replied cheerfully after a stunned moment. “Don’t I know you?”

“You might recognize my face,” Anathema said. “I was there when the world didn’t end.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes, wishing she hadn’t said that. There was no way she and Newt – _especially_ Newton – could make it into the house. They were going to kill them. 

His friends were going to die, and he was stuck in here like a coward.

“I remember their facezzz,” Beelzebub mused.

“Ah, now I see why Aziraphale came here. He made friends with mortals.”

Aziraphale could _hear_ Gabriel’s smile.

“What have you done to them?” Newt piped up.

“Nothing, yet. I _am_ about to burn this place down. Dagon?”

There was a loud _fwoosh_ and Aziraphale stumbled back from the door just in time to avoid the flames that crashed through it. He could tell by the unique heat that it was hellfire. His heart pounded.

“I don’t think so.”

Anathema shouted several words of command in a language that was definitely _not_ English and the flames were suddenly sucked back the way they came. The angels all screamed and Aziraphale could see them scrambling for cover through the now-empty doorway. The demons stood in a group, clearly baffled as they watched their fire billow across the garden. Aziraphale took advantage of their moment of distraction to raise his water gun and start firing.

Absolute chaos broke out – or, grew more chaotic, anyway. Beelzebub suddenly vanished into the ground, leaving Hastur and Dagon in the line of fire. Hastur shrieked as the water hit its mark and Aziraphale couldn’t help but enjoy watching the demon who’d had it out for Crowley for millennia melt. It was about time.

Dagon tried to run, but Aziraphale got a few shots off in time to catch them. They sank into the ground screaming, but they were gone before the vengeful angel could make sure they were dead.

By the time he looked up again, The hellfire was swirling in a circle around the archangels, growing tighter as the four of them bunched together in panic. “Wait just a moment,” Gabriel was saying, “I’m sure we can… come to some sort of _agreement_ without any of this-”

“Leave Aziraphale and Crowley alone,” Anathema said icily.

Gabriel hesitated. “Now, see, that-”

The fire constricted again. 

“Alright!” he cried, flinging his arms around his companions as if he could protect them. “Alright, we’ll leave them be!”

“Good.” Anathema glared at the group for a moment before whispering something that dispersed the flames. The angels vanished immediately.

There was sudden silence as the sky returned to normal.

“Aziraphale!” Anathema cried, running through the ruined door with her boyfriend hot on her heels. “Are you alright? Where are the kids? Crowley?”

“Upstairs,” he mumbled.

The couple took off, calling for the Them while Aziraphale stayed in the doorway. He couldn’t bring himself to leave his protective position. He didn’t have a flaming sword anymore, but he had a gun to lend weight to his moral argument.

“I don’t think they’ll come back,” Newt said from behind him, causing the angel to jump. He hadn’t heard him come back down the stairs,

“I think it will buy us a couple more years at least,” he agreed. “Hastur was a duke of Hell. His loss won’t be easy to recover from.” He didn’t want to hope Dagon was gone too.

“Maybe you two should move,” Newt suggested.

Aziraphale couldn’t imagine giving up his bookshop. “What?”

“You should move; that way they can’t find you as easily.”

The principality didn’t say anything.

The former witch hunter seemed to understand his reluctance to leave his watch. “I’ll stay here; you should… you should go upstairs.”

Aziraphale paused for a moment. There was something in the former witch hunter’s tone that didn’t sit well with the angel. He nodded and passed over the gun, which Newt hefted as he turned back to the porch.

The angel felt heavy as he walked back up the stairs. Now that the stress of the moment was wearing off, Aziraphale worried about Crowley’s collapse. Was it due to overexerting himself, or did it have something to do with crossing over the horseshoe? He’d come out of the house just fine, but maybe it was a one-way deal?

The Them quickly left the room once Aziraphale entered. Anathema looked up at him and he felt his heart drop into his stomach. He slowly moved through the room, forcing lead legs to carry him to the bedside. 

Crowley’s wings were gone. He didn’t know if that was a good sign or a very, very bad one.

He looked down at the very still demon on the bed, numb. The witch watched him for a moment before gently touching his arm and leaving the room.

“You idiot,” he found himself murmuring as he brushed his knuckles down Crowley’s cold face. “Always getting yourself into trouble.” Aziraphale sank onto the floor and buried his face in his hands. What was he going to do now?

“I ssseem to recall ressscuing _you_ throughout the agesss.”

Aziraphale jumped as a hand brushed his hair. He looked up to find Crowley peeking at him through half-open eyes with one hand flopped over the side of the mattress. The angel couldn’t help it; he immediately started sobbing.

“Shh, shh,” Crowley said hoarsely. “I’m here.”

Aziraphale drew himself onto his knees so he could press his face into Crowley’s chest. His friend awkwardly patted his back while he cried.

“Are they gone?” Crowley finally rasped as the principality’s sobbing quieted.

Aziraphale nodded. “I killed Hastur,” he murmured, turning his head so he could smile up at Crowley.

Gold eyes widened. “You _killed_ him?”

“Holy water.”

Crowley snorted, then coughed. He was still smiling. “Bastard deserved it.”

The angel hummed in agreement. “They’re not coming back.”

“Good.” He took a deep breath. “Aziraphale?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“I’m going to sleep for a while now.” He clumsily stroked Aziraphale’s back. “I promise I’ll wake up.”

“I promise I’ll be right here.”


	8. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to move forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! 
> 
> This is the last chapter. What an adventure! Thank you so much for all your support and lovely comments; they seriously give me life! I actually haven't been able to work on my novel for almost a year because I've had such bad writer's block. With all the love and support I've gotten from you guys since starting this, I was actually able to write again and finish the chapter that was giving me so much trouble! I actually have the muse to write original things again, so thank you all so much! It's like having a piece of myself that was missing back.
> 
> If you liked this work, please check out my other Good Omens works. I'll be posting a new one within the next few weeks as well; I just want to get a few chapters built up as a buffer.
> 
> That being said, I hope you enjoy this chapter!
> 
> As always, absolutely huge thanks to phineyj for beta reading, especially on Holliday!

“Are you ready?” Aziraphale asked.

“As long as I’m with you, I’m ready for anything.”

Aziraphale smiled at him, squeezed his hand, and stepped out of the Bentley. Crowley followed and hand in hand they approached their new cottage. The demon’s stomach knotted and he clenched his grip tighter.

“It feels different now that we own it,” Crowley murmured, looking around the empty space while his partner locked the door behind them.

“It feels like home,” Aziraphale hummed.

They wandered through the two-floor cottage, planning where to put what furniture in what rooms. There was a large space on the main level that would be perfect for Aziraphale’s favorite books, and he had his eye on a shop in town for the rest. There was a large garden in the back that Crowley was very excited about.

Someone knocked on the door, interrupting their conversation. “That must be Anathema and Newt,” Aziraphale said as they returned to the entry way.

“Cute place,” Anathema said, looking around as she stepped inside. Her boyfriend was still out at the truck they’d rented for the ethereal couple’s things. They’d used miracles to pack everything and fit it all in the truck itself, but they’d agreed it best to move and unpack the human way so they didn’t risk Heaven and Hell figuring out where they lived until they could fortify the house.

The Them piled out of the back of the car, drawing a frown from Aziraphale. “Don’t they have school?”

The witch shrugged. “They wanted to help, and school was _mysteriously_ cancelled. Something about giant spiders in the vents.”

Crowley couldn’t help a snicker. 

The eight of them got to work, though Crowley was still unable to carry most of their belongings. He took it upon himself to direct the boxes and larger pieces of furniture to feel useful. It took less time than they expected to get everything inside; it was only late evening by the time they finally emptied the truck, and they’d expected to have to work into the next day.

The human crew offered to stay and help unpack, but to Crowley’s relief, Aziraphale turned them down. “As our first home together, we’d really rather do it ourselves.”

They left shortly after dinner, allowing the ethereal beings to enjoy their cottage on their own.

“It’s rather peaceful, isn’t it,” Aziraphale said as they watched the sun dip below the horizon from the garden.

Crowley agreed, leaning against his friend’s side and shivering.

“Are you cold?”

Crowley looked up to find concerned blue eyes turned towards him. He shrugged. “I’m usually cold.”

A small shift later and the demon had a plush arm wrapped around him, pulling him closer.

The demon settled into his friend’s side with a contented sigh. “I’m glad we came here, Aziraphale.”

“Me too, my dear.”

“Do you think we’re going to be safe here?”

Aziraphale shifted again so he could turn and look at Crowley fully. “Of course we are,” he said firmly, fire in his eyes. “They’ll never touch you again.”

“What about you?”

“Or me,” Aziraphale smiled.

Crowley nodded and rested his head back on his friend’s shoulder. 

They sat in silence until the stars were the only light in the sky and Crowley grew too cold to remain outside any longer.

Though neither of them needed to sleep, Crowley still found himself needing as much rest as possible while he recovered. Aziraphale had organized a bedroom for them, combining both their preferred styles into a space they would both enjoy. Crowley helped set up the bed, but before he could slip under the covers Aziraphale stopped him. 

“May I see your wings?”

The demon froze for a moment. He considered making an excuse about being too tired to manifest them, but his shoulders slumped with a sigh as he summoned them. He had to close his eyes. Every time Crowley looked at them it became harder to bear what had happened. 

“They’re looking better,” Aziraphale said, before warning he was going to touch them.

Crowley flinched under the contact but didn’t fling himself across the room like he had the first time Aziraphale did this.

“Most of your feathers have started to grow in again,” his friend hummed, gently running his fingers over the fuzz. “They’ll be back to normal in no time.”

“You say that every time you check,” Crowley mumbled sourly.

“And I’m right.”

“It’s been three weeks and they’re just starting to grow back.”

The hands disappeared. “There was other healing to do too. The feathers growing in is the last stage.”

Crowley demanifested his wings with a sigh of relief. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Everything will be okay,” Aziraphale soothed again.

The demon adjusted his pajamas and slid under the lush blankets. He sank into the soft mattress with a contented hum.

It didn’t take long for Aziraphale to tuck in next to him and Crowley immediately curled against the larger man’s side. He peeked up at him and was surprised to find two blue eyes trained on him. “What?”

Aziraphale smiled. “I still can’t believe you’re mine.”

Crowley blinked. “I can’t believe you’re _mine_ ,” he shot back. “How could someone as pure as you love something like me?”

“That is the last time you get to refer to yourself as a ‘thing’,” Aziraphale said firmly. “I love you _because_ of who you are, not in spite of it.”

Crowley buried his face in his friend’s shoulder, but his face was pulled back up so the blond could speak to him directly.

“I love you, Crowley,” he said again, then gently kissed him.

The demon melted into the kiss, his entire being filled with warm tingling. This felt… _right_. Aziraphale’s arms felt more like home than Heaven or Hell ever had. His best friend was tender and took his time, allowing the two of them to feel each other without pressure. Crowley could stay like this for eternity; never had he been so grateful for the ability to not need to breathe.

After what felt like hours – and very well could have been – Aziraphale’s fingers trailed down the demon’s throat and came to rest against the top button of his pajamas. Crowley’s breath hitched as he froze, and Aziraphale immediately began to retract his hand. Crowley snatched it back, pressing his friend’s palm to his chest and looking into his eyes before nodding. The principality’s face softened. He rolled over Crowley, holding his weight off the smaller man-shaped being with his knees and one forearm as he continued their leisurely kiss and slowly undid the silky buttons with his free hand.

Crowley ran his hands up Aziraphale’s sides. _Tartan,_ he thought with a mental shake of his head. _Always with the tartan._

He began opening the other’s shirt, allowing his fingers to brush soft flesh as it was exposed, pulling a breathy moan from the blond. Aziraphale shifted and began kissing his way down the demon’s neck. Crowley gasped, head falling back into the pillows to give his partner better access.

“You’re beautiful,” Aziraphale whispered, continuing to pepper kisses down Crowley’s chest and stomach.

The only response the demon could get out was a whimper. He grasped Aziraphale’s hair, not guiding or holding; just wanting to touch.

When the blond reached Crowley’s pants he hesitated. The demon rolled his hips just enough to encourage the other being to tuck his fingers into the waistband and shimmy the pants off. Aziraphale let out a nearly inaudible moan.

Crowley’s hands fisted when soft lips gently kissed the head of his cock. Aziraphale looked up at him, questioning, and the demon nodded as he forced himself to relax his hands. The principality did it again, this time following it with a curious lick. Crowley groaned.

Aziraphale very slowly took Crowley into his mouth, maintaining eye contact the entire time. The demon’s hips twitched, but the blond held his waist firmly. He drew off before bobbing down again, movements still gentle and slow. Crowley closed his eyes and allowed himself to float on the sensations. If he could hear the noises he was making he’d probably be embarrassed, but fortunately Aziraphale didn’t plan on letting him down enough to get self-conscious.

The principality’s hands trailed down until one finger nudged against Crowley’s entrance.

The demon jolted, eyes flying open as he immediately stiffened. He wasn’t aware he’d grabbed his partner’s wrist until Aziraphale had completely pulled away and sat up, staring down at the demon with a mix of guilt and concern. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“No,” Crowley interrupted, releasing his likely painful grip on the other. “I want… I want you to, just…” he swallowed, trying to push down his fear. “Just… be gentle.”

Aziraphale leaned back over the demon, kissing him again. “If it becomes too much, tell me. I don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

Crowley nodded. “I promise.”

Aziraphale smiled and returned to kissing him, dizzying the demon before gently pressing a single fingertip into him. Crowley inhaled sharply. Aziraphale paused and waited for him to relax before continuing. Once he had the entire digit in, he very carefully moved it around, pulling it out in increments and bending it slightly until he found what he was looking for.

Crowley jolted and cried out into Aziraphale’s mouth, hips bucking. 

Aziraphale used the distraction to start pressing a second finger in with the first. He ground his own hips against Crowley’s dick when the demon began to tense, further distracting him from the careful intrusion and drawing a groan from his throat.

Aziraphale sat back, still working his partner open with slow movements as he inched his own pajama pants off. He laid back over the demon, who gasped at the sudden rush of cold air as the principality removed his fingers. They were quickly replaced with the tip of the his dick bumping against him.

Wide golden eyes stared into blue.

“We don’t have to do this,” Aziraphale said again, voice soft.

Crowley swallowed and shivered. “I want this,” he whispered. “I want _you_. I know you would never… if I didn’t want it.” He forced a smile. “I trust you.”

Aziraphale’s eyes sparkled.

He pushed into the demon slowly, careful not to hurt him. Crowley focused on relaxing. He wrapped his arms around his partner, fingers digging into soft shoulder blades. Aziraphale groaned as he bottomed out. He allowed his weight to rest completely on the demon, who hooked his ankles together around his hips.

Aziraphale rolled his hips, grinding down on Crowley’s cock while moving inside him as well. The demon moaned, arms tightening their grip. Aziraphale did it again, movements gentle as he eased himself back and forth while ensuring the best friction to his partner’s cock as he could.

Crowley didn’t think it was possible for him to love Aziraphale any more than he already did, but the swelling in his heart was testing that theory. He was so careful, hands cupping his face and alternating between gazing into his eyes and kissing him sweetly as he rocked.

“You’re so beautiful,” Aziraphale murmured again. 

Crowley whimpered.

“You’re perfect.”

“Azira-ahh…”

“You’re so good.”

A deep moan.

“I’ve loved you for centuries,” Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s cheeks with his thumbs.

“I’ve – _ungh_ – loved you-”

The blond cut him off by kissing him and pressing forward again.

“Garden,” Crowley gasped as soon as his mouth was free.

Aziraphale smiled.

The principality’s pace never changed. He was content to slowly roll his body and shower his demon in affection. Crowley was just as content to accept it, the tenderness and love his partner showed him keeping his mind far from traumatic memories.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley gasped, fingers digging into Aziraphale’s back. “I’m-”

“With me, my love,” Aziraphale hummed, sliding his hands between Crowley and the bed to hold him closer. “With me.”

Crowley lasted only a few more strokes before crying Aziraphale’s name and arching into him as he came. His partner was mere seconds behind, pressing into him one last time and releasing. Warmth filled the demon, his entire being – both ethereal and physical – pulsing with satisfaction.

They clung to each other as they rode out their highs. After several minutes Aziraphale very carefully pulled out and shifted so he was beside Crowley, never once relinquishing his embrace.

“Thank you,” Crowley whispered, eyes heavy as he snuggled into his partner.

“Of course,” Aziraphale replied, rubbing circles into the demon’s back.

“I love you,” the demon said.

“I love you too.”

Crowley drifted into sleep, knowing when he woke, it would be to the embrace of his love. Nothing would be able to tear them apart ever again. Everything was going to be okay. 

Everything was going to be _perfect_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My phone pulls up news articles in my chrome app it thinks it might like, and it gave me this the other day. I thought it would be fun to share with all of you!
> 
> https://www.vox.com/2019/4/11/18292419/archive-of-our-own-wins-hugo-award-best-related-work
> 
> Please pass it on to other authors on the site, especially those that have been here so much longer than I have that **_really_** earned it!


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